Taste of Perfection
by ArhenaRuetto
Summary: It was supposed to happen differently.    Short One-shot. M rating for language, just to be sure.  There's a lot of language in there.


It was supposed to happen differently.

_"You're a fucking IDIOT, you know that? You smell, you're STUPID and LAZY and I HATE you, I'm THIS close to shoving you out the airlock and you have no idea how ANGRY I am at you!"_

He hadn't understood _what_ exactly she was so angry about. All he had done was politely ask if he could buy her a drink, maybe something to eat. Mical had previously expressed a worry that she appeared thinner and a bit worn. Atton hadn't noticed before and had cursed his inattentiveness upon realizing that ol' Blondie was right. Doran looked as though she hadn't slept or meditated in a few days, her eyes were a bit glazed and her cheeks were thinner. Her tattered hair looked even more crazed that it normally did as she continued to yell and spout expletive after expletive at him.

_"Do you even -know- how much I have to do around this place? How many things I'm in charge of keeping in order? Do you know how good I am at doing my job? All I ask is that you pilot this stupid, fucking, piece of shit, hunk of JUNK before I - "_

He hadn't really known what to do. A small crowd was gathering in the hallway just before the cockpit hatch. Even T3 had stopped his rounds and had his lense focused on the two of them.

_" - gonna beat your ASS you schutta, take your cards and shove them down your THROAT, I KNOW you cheated in our last game and you think you got away with it but I SAW you, I know what you did, you're trying to wear me down, trying to HIDE things from me."_

That hurt. That really stung. Atton Rand was a lot of things, but he was -not- a cheater. A frown crossed his face, the first expression that broke through the kind of dazed confusion that had previously been plastered on his handsome features. His bewilderment was starting to give way to irritation as she continued her rant.

_"You can't even fly this ship right, maybe I should get Bao-Dur down here instead and then YOU can repair shit! Shit that you probably broke in the first place! No no, don't you talk, I didn't say you could talk, -I'm- talking. You don't talk when I talk!"_

He just wanted to know what it was that he had done to earn this. To earn being locked in a holding cell on Paragus, to be the subject of that witch's blackmail, to be stuck with _her_ of all people. Of all the Jedi in the world to be saddled with, he had to be paired with the most stubborn, irritable, broken -

_"And you know what? I don't even care! I don't even CARE that you beat me in Pazaak last night, I don't CARE that you're a liar and a rogue. I don't CARE that YOU probably don't care that I care!"_

Anger had given way to a strange kind of understanding. He didn't -fully- understand, but he understood some. Her eyes were glazed, but still a nice blue. Her face looked angry, her mannerisms were that of an angered thing, but her eyes seemed ... lost.

_"You fucking prick, I HATE you, you can just rot in HELL for all I- "_

He had grabbed her upper arm with one hand, the other slipping around the back of her head as he pressed his lips to hers with a firm but gentle insistence. Time held still for the both of them, Doran's eyes clearing as she took a moment to register what was happening. She held very still until Atton pulled his head away and relaxed his grip on her, even taking a small step backwards to try and show some semblance of respect for her personal space. As soon as he was about an arm's length away, in the time it took him to blink, something hit his face with nearly the force of a sledgehammer, making him turn and stagger into the wall, his entire lower jaw throbbing. He lifted his head and looked over his shoulder at her.

Those eyes burned with a clarity that hadn't been there before. This time she actually -was- angry, turning to leave the cockpit, the other crew members stumbling over themselves to clear out of her way.

That ... was supposed to go different in his head. Atton rubbed his jaw and gave a muttered oath, his tongue feeling down his gums as the front of his mouth continued to throb, the metallic taste of blood spreading throughout.

Damn that was good, though.


End file.
